


An Abundance of Fear

by Rasiaa (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: What possessed these people, he doesn't know, and he's afraid to know.





	An Abundance of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> for Hailey Mockingjay. Draco, angst, paint, winter, house elf.
> 
> This... is not what I intended. I wanted something more involved, but as it drew to this end, it seemed like it would be too forced to continue.

It's easy to hate what you don't understand.

As the leaves change and eventually fall, a hatred he thought he'd buried long ago revives itself, dark and broken as it's ever been.

It's warm by the fire, but outside it's colder than it's been in years. He's not sure if that's because of the snow or the rain. Neither have stopped for days. As such, he's locked himself inside and he tries to remember serenity. It doesn't work, but nothing does.

He's tried meditation, but his mind wanders too easily. He tried reading, but couldn't conjure images in his mind. He tried painting, but it just dripped on the floor and the mess was not worth it.

He thought he buried this years ago. It was the start of the summer then and it's the winter now and the opposites mock him. It was daybreak then. It's always, always dark these days as the storms continue. Unrelenting. Unending. Unbelievable.

The house elves are concerned, he knows. He wishes he could reassure them, but everything would ring false and they don't deserve it.

They're his only company these days. They deserve better than that, too.

"Master Draco?"

Briar.

He's the most insistent of the elves. He's the least afraid. The others try but their words lack the bite that his have.

"Yes?"

"Tea, sir," the elf says sharply. Bold, this one. The others take his words at face value but Briar knows better than to think they're orders anymore.

So he just sighs. "Thank you," he murmurs, and the cup is scalding in his hands. He hisses lowly but Briar pretends not to notice. He can't decide if he's pleased by the defiance or not. In the end it doesn't really matter, does it?

"Do you want the _Daily Prophet_ today, sir?"

"No."

"As you wish."

And so Briar leaves, and the paper joins the stack of other newspapers and catalogues on the desk across the room. He watches the door close and then looks out the window again.

The snow is gentler now. It's a small mercy.

He's not even sure what day it is anymore, but doesn't want to see the paper to check. He knows many days have passed and he's afraid of the implication. He's--not happy, per se, but not unhappy, either. It's not comfortable here, but it's better than out there.

Out there brings the risk of being found.

This is a small apartment he found and purchased a year ago. A year and a half? He can't remember. It's barely furnished and if it weren't for his house elves he would've starved ages ago. He's never given them orders to get food but it seems it's just a natural instinct that they have, like anyone else.

He doesn't understand why this has come to light again. There was a massive hole cut right through it years ago, and from there it disintegrated with a lack of faith and an abundance of fear. What possessed these people, he doesn't know, and he's afraid to know.

He's angry and afraid and it's a terrifying reminder of his school years, where every misstep could have been his last and he had to bury everything he was for the sake of his next breath. What fools could return to it?

They're all asking. They're all waiting for his answer. They want to see him again. They want to watch him fall again, farther, harder, faster this time. He won't.

He'd rather die.

There's a shadow.

His heart stops and he clutches the tea tighter, like it'll defend him at all.

Something is moving through the snow.

He glances at the paper from two weeks ago. The title mocks him.

_Death Eaters on the Rise?_

He looks outside again, but it's gone. The footprints aren't.

Someone knocks on the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero intention of continuing this. I don't know who's there, but I think any guess could be correct.


End file.
